


To the Victor Go the Spoils

by Lines_of_Pain_and_Glory



Category: Leverage
Genre: Multi, Strip Poker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 17:24:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2118423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lines_of_Pain_and_Glory/pseuds/Lines_of_Pain_and_Glory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Nate is not sexually repressed (or maybe he is) and Parker does not understand strip poker (or maybe she does).</p>
<p>Because there needs to be more strip poker leads to team five-way fic.  Also because Nate/Parker is my pickles/ice cream.  I can’t even explain, just try it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Victor Go the Spoils

“Come on, just one game for real.” The heavy cardstock rustles through Nate’s fingers as he shuffles. No one’s ready for this night to end still high on the taste of victory. Eliot, Sophie, and Hardison all settle back down around the table amiably, but Parker folds her arms, glaring. 

“I’m not giving you money!” Her tone sounds like that of someone being asked to put up a kidney.

Sophie gets a wicked gleam in her eye. “We could play strip poker.”

“No!” Is there anything you won’t try to get into my pants, Woman?

The rest of the words never make it out of his mouth because Parker says, “Ok,” and starts taking off her sweatshirt and no one seems to have any intention of putting a stop to that.

“You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”

“Why?” Only Parker. At least she’s stopped taking off her clothes.

“You don’t do that until you lose, Parker.”

“Man, why’s he always got to be like that?” Hardison shakes his head sadly, but not penitently.

“Like what? Scrupulous?” He suggests archly.

“Sexually repressed?” Sophie gives him a condescending little pat, “I blame his upbringing.”

“I am not sexually repressed!” The collective rolling of eyes suggests they’d beg to differ. “What, just because I’m not comfortable with getting naked as a teambuilding exercise?” What sane person isn’t sexually repressed by that definition?

Eliot smirks, leaning back in his chair and resting his boots up on the table. “So you are just yellow. Scared you can’t beat me, Nate?”

“No, I’m afraid I can and I’ll have to look at your ass.” He needles back, dealing anyway. He’s willing to take that bullet to wipe the smug look off Eliot’s face.

“Hey, rules don’t say you got to look…but I won’t blame you.” Still smirking, Eliot leans forward to check his cards in such a way that his shirt, which already has more buttons undone at the top than seems necessary, pulls across his chest giving Nate an even better view…and, yeah, maybe he’s looking, so what? He can’t appreciate an attractive man on an aesthetic level?

“So, just, like, for the sake of argument, if I had two tens that would be good, right?” Parker frowns at the board. 

They all stare at each other. Eliot is the one who finally says it. “Does she not know how to play or are we about to get our asses handed to us?”

Hardison snorts. “You better hope it's 'A' or you’re going to be going home without pants. Parker only plays for keeps.”

 

As usual, Parker is crazy like a fox. Three doubles of whiskey, one heated argument about how jewelry counts, innumerable accusations of cheating, and much sexual harassment later, they’re still fighting to a bloody draw. Hardison is in just his boxers and a wife beater and has he been working out? Eliot’s down to his jeans and his boots and muttering about how today was a bad time to go commando. Parker has the sweatshirt and her panties still on and how has he never noticed her legs before? He shouldn’t be noticing Parker’s legs now. He most certainly shouldn’t be sneaking his hand into his pocket to feel the lace of Sophie’s panties. She’s chosen to keep her heels and the dress from under which she managed to produce a baffling array of underwear, slip and stockings and garter belt and bra and frilly knickers just the tiniest bit damp in the gusset or maybe that’s his filthy imagination and the sweat from his palm playing tricks on him. Maybe what Eliot mutters not quite under his breath enough to not be heard is true: maybe Nate does need to get laid. He wouldn’t know where to even begin going about that. He can’t just sleep with Sophie. As much as she may feign Continental sensibilities, he can’t believe she wouldn’t have expectations if he did that.

When Parker loses the next hand and complains that she’s already cold, Eliot grins and says, “Kiss Sophie and I’ll call it even.” 

Of course, they do it, not a jokey little peck, but long and messy with lots of tongue because Sophie likes nothing better than the attention of a rapt audience and Parker has no mental construct that corresponds to the word “inappropriate.”

Then Eliot loses the next hand and Parker grins and says, “Kiss Alec and I’ll call it even,” and Eliot actually does it and Hardison doesn’t seem to mind at all and Nate decides this is getting out of hand.

“Alright, that’s enough.” He gathers up the cards.

“What’s the matter, need to go rub one out?” He’s not surprised by the jab; he’s surprised at the source.

“You shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, Parker.”

“Maybe I do want the answer.” She has a smile like a tiger and eyes like a wolf.

Nate smirks, leaning back in his chair. “If you really want to know if I’m turned on, get over here and find out.”

The others have fallen silent, waiting to see how this current game of chicken will play out, but he notices that Hardison’s hand is still in Eliot’s hair and Eliot’s hand is still on Hardison’s thigh and Sophie is crossing and uncrossing her legs, her foot jiggling. Looks like he’s not the only one who needs to get laid. Parker springs cat-like onto the table, slinking over until she can bend down, her long hair brushing his forearms.

“That’s not fair!” She has her head in his lap pulling down his zipper with her teeth. If he wasn’t hard right now, he might need to reevaluate how serious his relationship with John Jameson has gotten.

“I don’t know, Sailor.” Sophie’s voice comes out far too breathy for teasing, “Looks to me as though you were already at half-mast…”

This has gotten very, very out of hand, but surely even Parker wouldn’t just…no, this is not happening. He’s drunk and he needs to get laid and he’s hallucinating, so there’s no good reason not to tangle his hands in her hair and just enjoy…Oh, God, this is happening. Parker is sucking his cock and Sophie is pulling off Parker’s panties and Hardison is unbuttoning Eliot’s jeans and Eliot is sticking his tongue in Nate’s mouth and, truth be told, he doesn’t mind at all. Did he mention he’s getting blown? Enthusiastically, sloppily, finger up the ass making him take the name in vain, blown?

 

“So did I win?” Parker looks completely serious.

He surveys the naked expanse of flesh still twined around them: sweatshirt, so easy to slip your hands under. He groans helplessly, letting his head fall back down between Sophie’s breasts. 

“Sure.” At this point? Whatever makes her happy.

“Cool, I like strip poker. How soon can we play again?”


End file.
